


And Later We'll Get Milkshakes

by dinosaurwars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurwars/pseuds/dinosaurwars
Summary: Derek plans on asking Stiles out eventually. But a witch kind of forces his hand.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 3
Kudos: 304





	And Later We'll Get Milkshakes

The witch hadn’t been hard to kill. 

She’d been bad-tempered, all snarling and clawed, but she hadn’t been especially skilled, and there hadn’t been any magical poison knives or wolfsbane-tipped arrows to contend with, for which Derek was very, very grateful. 

But she had definitely done something. Derek felt a strange twitching in his gut, like arousal but more specific, more intense. He watched Stiles and Scott walk back to the Jeep with a growing sense of dread. 

He sat down, leaned his head back against tree. Maybe sitting down would help. Maybe he was just keyed up after a fight. 

But instead of abating, he gut twitching got much more specific: There was a sudden urgency to be inside of Stiles, with his fingers or his tongue--or with his cock, which was suddenly rock hard. He wanted to leave bruises on Stiles’s neck, maybe bite him hard enough to leave a mark. He could almost feel the warm give of skin under his teeth. He’d firmly press his hand down the length of Stiles’s spine, drink up every gasp--

Derek ran a trembling hand through his hair. His arousal was coming at him in waves, punching into his stomach. He looked at Stiles, over by the Jeep, laughing with Scott, happy and energized after a victory. 

Derek shook his head. He thought of a specific, resounding moment: a few years ago, late at night, Stiles taking his first bite into a crisp apple. Derek had been hit with a bolt of lust, deep in his stomach; he’d coughed a little, into his hand, very deliberately ignoring the unasked-for pangs of _want_ and, distantly, _mate_. He hadn’t looked at Stiles for the rest of the night, but had traced the rise and fall of his voice, the bubbling cadence of his laughter. 

And then, on the walk back to the house, he’d crouched in the forest and jerked himself, hearing over and over again the sound of Stile’s teeth as he bit into the red flesh. He thought of Stiles’s hands, long-fingered, elegant; of Stile’s warm eyes. He came so hard he was left panting. 

Derek’s head jerked up at the crunch of leaves nearby. Stiles was walking over, grinning big. 

“Hey dude. You alright?” 

Derek grunted. 

Stiles laughed. “Oookay. Well, you want a ride home? It’s getting pretty late.” 

“No.” 

Stiles nodded. “Cool, man. Love it when you’re chatty. See you later, Sourwolf.” 

Derek squeezed his eyes shut when Stiles started to walk away, but he couldn’t let him go. He was on his feet and in front of Stiles before he’d even made the decision to move. 

Stiles looked startled to see him, but didn’t say anything, just waited for Derek to speak. Derek took a painful breath. “I need to talk to you.” 

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “About what?” 

He swallowed, and had no idea what to say. “I crave you entirely”? “I was into you before and now that witch has made my lust intensely painful”? “It’s hot when you eat apples”? This was a _terrible_ conversation. 

“The witch put a spell on me.” 

Stiles reached out and grabbed Derek’s arm; it felt like a hot, like brand. “What? Dude! You didn’t tell us! Hey, Scotty! Derek’s under a spell!” He looked back at Derek. “What kind of spell? You--you actually look pretty...uncomfortable. Are discomfort spells a thing?” 

Derek jerked away from the _complete idiot_ who was somehow the object of his affections and stormed off. He heard Stiles jogging after him, leaves cushioning his footfalls, but he didn’t turn around. Scott stayed by the car. 

“Hey. Hey!” Stiles was right behind him, now; Derek hadn’t sped up. “Hey, I’m sorry! Derek. Slow down.” 

Derek stopped. He could smell Stiles stronger than ever: rising dough, fresh-turned soil, a hint of melted sugar. He looked at the sky and considered how this would probably go if he _didn’t_ explain everything to Stiles. Terrible pain and discomfort, probably. Maybe death.

Finally, he swallowed--it felt more like choking. “I need to talk to _just_ you.” 

Stiles looked surprised, but nodded. “Okay, we can do that. Let me--just give me a second.” 

He was gone just a few minutes. Derek sat down again--it seemed just a little easier, when he wasn’t standing. But there was pain now, sharp, right between his eyes. And his dick was pushing against the zipper of his jeans so hard he was sure he'd be left with the imprint of tiny metal teeth. 

Stiles sat down in front of him, loose-limbed and close. “Scott’s getting a ride, take as much time as you need. Okay. What’s up?” 

“I believe the witch cast a spell.” 

Stiles nodded. “Right. Okay. What kind of spell? Are you in pain?” His eyes scanned Derek’s body. “She didn’t--no wolfsbane?” 

Derek shook his head. This wasn’t going well. He didn’t want to say “I need to fuck you, by the way I liked you the whole time.” He wanted to say, “I like you, and now I have to fuck you, but what I wanted to do was after three or so years of agonizing over it, ask if I could buy you a milkshake or something, and then a month after thta I’d kiss you, and then…”

There was no point on dwelling on any of that now. Besides, things like that never worked out. Stiles would probably just be disgusted. Was he even into guys? God. 

In the end, Derek ended up closing his eyes saying: “Three months ago, I watched you take a bite of an apple.” 

Stiles made a small, confused sound, but didn’t say anything. Derek forced himself to keep going. His headache was getting worse, like someone was slowly driving a needle into his brain. 

“I watched you take a bite of the apple, and I saw your white teeth, and your closed eyes. Eyelashes like feathers.” Derek was in physical pain, but he forced himself to go on. “And your hands, which are”--he took a breath--“very--your fingers. They’re long. And your eyes are warm. I thought we could get milkshakes sometime.” 

He couldn’t say anything else. God, let that be enough. But it wasn’t, he knew that. 

“You--you like my eyes?” Stiles’s voice was small and tentative, a little choked. Maybe hopeful. 

Derek nodded, but didn’t open his eyes. He actually heard Stiles swallow. 

“I--I like your eyes, too,” said Stiles. His voice was as shaky as Derek’s. Derek was torturing _both_ of them. There was a pause. “But why--I mean, this is great, Derek. This is great, because I have had a really pathetic, desperate crush on you pretty much since the moment I saw you. And your eyebrows. This is _great_. But is this--does this pertain to the spell? The, uh, witchy stuff?” 

Yeah, he hadn’t said enough. Derek was quiet for a moment. He wanted to explain more--how much he’d wanted to maybe, somehow, build something real with Stiles. How smart Stiles was, how funny, how upbeat even when everything was terrible. How much he valued that. 

But he was hurting, and it was killing him not to unzip his fly, and his brain was distracting him with a thousand different and equally alluring images of Stiles’s naked, willing body. 

So all he managed to say was, “We have to have sex.” 

Stiles looked like he’d been slapped. “What?” 

Derek gritted his teeth and gestured to his crotch. Stiles gasped--apparently he hadn’t yet noticed Derek’s raging hardon. 

“I’m in pain, Stiles. I’m so sorry. But I’m in pain--” 

Suddenly Stiles was right in front of him, nodding, making soothing sounds. “Okay,” he said, taking a breath. “I get it. It’s like a sex pollen sort of deal. And you--you wanted me to know that you liked me. Before we...sex pollen sexed.” 

Derek huffed a strangled laugh and nodded, closing his eyes in relief. Stiles put his hands on either side of Derek’s face; his palms were cool. He drew his thumbs across Derek’s cheekbones. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

Then he pulled back and wiggled his eyebrows. “Let’s do this.” 

Derek groaned, something that came all the way from his feet, and pulled Stiles in for a kiss.

Their mouths were sloppy together, but Derek’s entire body thrilled at the knowledge that he was kissing Stiles. Derek pushed his tongue past Stiles’s teeth; he licked along Stiles’s gums. Stiles moaned, and Derek answered him; they breathed into each other’s mouths. 

He wished they could just do this--their mouths together, Stiles in his lap in the forest--for hours, but there was no time. Derek’s heart felt squeezed; his headache was spreading. Even with Stiles’s cool hands on his face and neck, he felt like he was burning, sweating through his shirt. 

Stiles pulled back. “I get the sense that there’s a sort of urgency here. So maybe we should push through to second base?”

Derek nodded mutely. He watched Stiles’s hand go to Derek's zipper; watched him thumb open the button. He actually whimpered--high and painful, in the back of his throat--when Stiles started to pull down the zip. 

His cock sprang out of his jeans, and he thought he might come just from the relief of it, and from the sight of Stiles’s hands, so close. Stiles was staring; he drew one fingertip down the length. 

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but Derek was impatient now--he pulled off Stiles’s flannel and T-shirt, throwing them both. He ran both hands down Stiles’s chest, his flat stomach; dug his thumbs into the hollows of his collar bones. 

Stiles groaned and let his head fall back, baring his throat. Derek growled involuntarily; he reach forward and deliberately pressed his fingertips to Stiles's long, pale neck. 

“Oh my god,” breathed Stiles. “Oh my god, _Derek_.” 

Derek made a sound of animal satisfaction when Stiles said his name. 

Once Stiles was completely naked, lying wide-eyed on the ground, practically twitching with anticipation, Derek stood up and finished undressing one one quick movement. He knelt down, put his hands on Stiles’s hips, and swallowed his cock in one movement. 

Stiles made a strangled sound of surprise and arousal and planted a hand on Derek’s head, his long fingers curling around Derek’s skull. Derek breathed hard through his nose, slicking Stiles’s cock completely; he pulled off and wrapped a hand around the length. After a moment he brought his own cock alongside Stiles’s, and wrapped his hand around them both. Stiles’s hips were juddering and his hands were pressed to the ground, digging into the earth. 

“Touch me,” said Derek. And Stiles complied immediately, one hand on Derek’s shoulder, one tightening in his hair. 

“Derek--” 

Derek stopped him, kissed him quiet. God, kissing Stiles was incredible.

When Derek pulled away, Stiles said tentatively, “So, uh--do you need to fuck me? Or is this--?” 

“Might be enough,” whispered Derek, still working their cocks, twisting his hands expertly, hoping it felt good for Stiles. “Just let me--”

“You could come on me? If you want to?” Stiles said, his voice low, a little embarrassed, full of arousal. He made determined eye contact with Derek and lay back down. 

Derek groaned again and came hard; he felt the possessive joy of marking Stiles. His headache immediately started to abate; the pressure on his heart released. 

“Derek--I need--” 

Derek snapped to attention and wrapped his hand around Stiles’s cock. He jerked it a few times, listening to Stiles’s heavy breaths, and then bent to take it into his mouth. When Stiles came, Derek swallowed happily, greedily. Stiles looked shellshocked. 

“Holy shit,” he said, panting, smiling hugely. “I just came in _Derek Hale’s mouth_.” 

Derek grinned. 

*

They lay in the forest for a long time, their skin cooling as the moon rose higher. Derek was curled around Stiles, his front pressed to Stiles's back; he skimmed his hand along his rib bones, moved his palm up and down from Stile's hip to his chest.

After a while, Stiles swallowed. “I know you said--” 

Derek waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He thought he knew what Stiles was going to say, but he needed _him_ to say it. Needed _him_ to ask. 

“I said what?” Derek asked finally, pressing his open mouth to Stiles’s shoulder. 

Stiles took a breath. “You said all that stuff, about the apple and how you had wanted...things. And the spell. But did you mean that? I mean I know you meant it about the spell. But about the apple. Yeah.” He paused for a moment, like he was bracing himself. “What I mean is, do you still want to get milkshakes? That’s what I’m asking. Because I still want to get milkshakes. So I need to know: do you still want to get milkshakes?” 

Derek pulled Stiles even closer. “Yes, Stiles,” he said. “Yes, I still want to get milkshakes.” 


End file.
